She pretended not to understand; she asked for reasons and explanations.

Finally, she announced in idle words, beneath which ran a current of determination, that neither her father nor Morris could really wish this hurried marriage, since had they done so one or other of them would have spoken to her on the subject.

When pressed, she intimated very politely, but in language whereof the meaning could hardly be mistaken, that she held this fixing of the date to be peculiarly her own privilege; and when still further pressed said plainly that she considered her father too ill for her to think of being married at present.
"But they both desire it," expostulated the Colonel.
"They have not told me so," Mary answered, setting her red lips.
"If that is all, they will tell you so soon enough, my dear girl." "Perhaps, uncle, after they have been directed to do so, but that is not quite the same thing." The Colonel saw that he had made a mistake, and too late changed his tactics.
"You see, Mary, your father's state of health is precarious; he might grow worse." She tapped her foot upon the ground.

Of these allusions to the possible, and, indeed, the certain end of her beloved father's illness, she had a kind of horror.
"In that event, that dreadful event," she answered, "he will need me, my whole time and care to nurse him.

These I might not be able to give if I were already married.